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A picture of a coffee cup on a jute bag with coffee beans and a leather bound book

A steady return to my normal married life.

As I organised the contents of our ottoman bed, it amused me how the ottoman beds in the catalogues always looked so organised and tidy and ours just, wasn’t. Nevermind neatly folded blankets, perfectly paired shoes and tidy rows of handbags, ours was a disarray of wedding things, gift wrap, teddy bears and… well… dust. There was no order present, and so it was my objective for the evening to make some.

I lie in an uncomfortable twisted shape beneath the mattress frame, my dearly beloved now taunting me and threatening to pull it down on top of me. I say threatening, but he was at least joking.

“Why not? I could just keep you in there, pull you out when I want you, use you and put you back in when I’ve finished. My bed slave” he teased.

Initially it might seem that I could be horrified, I could protest or be offended even, but instead I decided to match like for like.

“Sounds fun” I said with a smirk, “when do we begin?”

On Monday, Matt asked me to grind him some more coffee. To most people I’m sure it would seem like the daftest thing, and yet for me, grinding Matt’s coffee is something deeply special: it’s become a part of my submission.

I’m not sure how or when or why exactly, but I’ve become quite protective about being able to grind my husband’s coffee. It’s my right. It’s my role. So much so, that I’ve now put it on my task app as a weekly to-do (no points, its a reward in itself) and when he talked about buying pre-ground coffee to “save you some time”, I felt hurt, replaced even. It’s just coffee Helen, really?


For a lot of people, submission, I know, is about humiliation, degradation and/or the providing of sexual pleasure. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with those things – I enjoy them too – but for me, some of the ways that my submission to my husband presents itself seems almost banal – it’s about pleasing him, as my husband as well as my Dominant. I supposed that that originates from a conversation we had at the very start of our relationship, about men and women and gender roles. Even if I’m free to live my life as a modern woman – to vote, debate and wear jeans and hoodies whenever I want to – my husband is still every bit the head of the household ( by mutual, consensual agreement) and I consult him on nearly everything, from what perfume I should pick for a day out to what top I should wear for a family visit. He likes me feminine but simple – navy with a light floral print and light, natural make-up is a favourite look.

So then, grinding his coffee and cutting his hair is just an extension of that.

Really I fulfil many roles, and ‘Sexetary’ is just another name that I go by. It’s aimed largely at my humiliation and degradation as an object of sexual purpose, but it also originates in the fact that I have fulfilled two admin positions in the time that I’ve known him, including one when we met. I also know that Matt quite likes me doing administrative work for him/us; writing letters, working out budgets, taking phone calls and handling messages, and so on.

But it is a life that I choose for myself, and even as a strong, capable, independent woman, I am still happy within it. I’m not here because I have to be, because I depend on him, I’m here because I choose to be. I submit myself to my husband, to men, or at least to men who deserve it, can handle me, and that my husband approves of.

In recent days, I joined up to the social media site of the kinky world, Fetlife. I joined up to pass on my condolences following the passing of the late Mistress Anita, but I stuck around for a while to see what else was going on in my locale. It’s been years since I’d been active on the kink scene, what events and gatherings are there in my area now? With society opening back up post-lockdown, it would be good for me to get back out there and make some new kinky friends.

I think that was the first time that I knew Captain and I were in hot water, when I began to wonder whether it would really matter if I ‘played the field’ a little at the same time. I knew that Captain was being unfaithful to his wife by talking to me and to be honest, I think I’d lost faith in the idea that he was ever going to tell her about me. I wanted better, and I knew that she deserved better, too. So what if I ventured, then? Was cheating on a cheater okay?

No Helen, two wrongs do not make a right.

It turns out that, despite my dark and depraved sense of humour, a girl really does have some morals buried somewhere deep, deep down.

I never did hear from Captain again and when I think about it, I’m not sure that I’d want to either. I’ve lost all respect for him now and I think that his behaviours are little more than a reflection of the person he truly is. I had high hopes for him, but it turns out that you really can’t save some people from themselves. I wish him no harm of course, in fact I wish him well and I hope that it does all work out for him in the end. As for me though, the next time a self-professed ‘nice guy’ messages me, I’ll run far and run fast in the opposite direction.

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